


not your baby

by cervine_salad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Children, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Post-Divorce, Sex, Sexual Content, Single Parents, Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cervine_salad/pseuds/cervine_salad
Summary: Keith is a babysitter for divorced, early 40s Shiro, who has two kids and a house and no love life to speak of. He's always avoided thinking of Keith as anything other than his employee, though the way he's managed to crack Shiro's tough exterior shell and draw out his true feelings might send them both reeling into territory they've both feared and yearned for.**Cis Shiro / Trans Keith with AFAB language used.
Relationships: Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 298





	not your baby

Shiro is nothing if not a gentleman, so while he crushes he doesn't initiate anything. It's Keith who finally asks, after almost a year of being the full-time nanny, if Shiro thinks he's attractive. The kids are at school and Keith stopped by to get Shiro's grocery list and found the man working from home that day, needing a break from the office. He's so flustered when Keith does a turn and asks him if he looks nice (he's going on a date later that night). Shiro is a disaster. He manages to sputter, "Y-you... you look... you look great, Keith."

Keith is wearing denim overalls that cut off above the knee, a red t-shirt underneath. His usual white sneakers. Little black studs that glitter in his ears and with his dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. He's always been cute. Today isn't really that different. But there is definitely something different about him when Shiro looks at him right now, knowing he's going out with another guy tonight, knowing that this other guy might make him laugh and buy him drinks and kiss him on a side street. Maybe unclasp one of the straps of those overalls and put a hand up his shirt. Shiro tells himself, rather vehemently, that he's not jealous. He has no right to be. Keith is a grown, single man and can do what he wants. Shiro will worry about him like... like a family member. But Keith isn't his boyfriend and never will be.

"Um, Shiro." Keith noticed his nervousness, of course. Shit. 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that." Keith shuffles through the random mail and papers on the kitchen table, looking for the grocery list he knows he saw there yesterday. 

"No, I... it's okay." Shiro clears his throat, leans against the counter top with a Gatorade clutched in one hand. "I just... I don't..." 

"You don't look at me that way." Keith's gaze flickers at him from across the room. "I know. You're a good man, for that." It sends a rush of heat to Shiro's cheeks.

Yes. That's right. They have a strictly professional relationship, after all. Keith works for him. Shiro would never take advantage of that power dynamic, not while he's Keith's employer. But having the guy around so much, always there when he needs him, cooking dinner and making his son and daughter giggle and helping them with their homework, even just washing dishes after the children are in bed... Shiro can't say he's never/noticed/ Keith. It's impossible not to. He's all leg, long hair and lean body and the most adorable nose that Shiro could kiss.

"Thank you," Shiro says, hollow. Then his voice dips lower, deep in his chest. "I'd never do anything to compromise your place in this house, you know that." 

"I know." Keith finally finds the list, scrawled on scrap paper. He folds it and tucks it in the back pocket of his pants.

Their eyes meet again across the table. "But I do see you," Shiro finishes. It's husky, a bit. As much as he dares. 

Keith receives it without missing a beat. "You do?" He watches Shiro's adam's apple bob heavily in his throat. 

"Of course I do. You're beautiful. I'm not blind."

Keith bites his lower lip to try to stop himself from grinning. His eyes dart away, a trademark of unusual shyness that Shiro finds delectable.

"Well, technically, you are," Keith says slyly, looking back up at him from under his dark bangs. "I mean, without your glasses."

It makes Shiro laugh. A genuine laugh. Some people are just really good at getting that out of him. "That's what happens when you get to be an old-timer." 

It's a joke that Keith has relentlessly - affectionately, really - used on him for a year, especially when he asks about using some social media platform or other, or wondering what the kids are even laughing about ("What's Tik Tok? I don't get it... Don't ever put videos of yourselves on there!") 

Keith laughs, too. And for some reason, he comes closer, drawn toward the older man in the bright sunlit kitchen like a moth to a candle. Shiro watches him approach without comment. He doesn't stop him. It's like waiting for a silky black cat to come rub up against him, and moving too fast could scare him away.

"The guy I'm going out with tonight..." Keith says it slowly, almost hesitant. "He's a year older than me. He picked me up at a coffee shop, he said he liked the book I was reading." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "He's a nice guy. I might go home with him."

"Oh." Shiro clears his throat. He knows why Keith is telling him this - it's a schedule thing, something that might prevent him from getting to the house early tomorrow. He wonders if Keith is about to ask for the Saturday off. He never takes a day off, unless he's sick.

"Can I show you what I'm wearing?" Keith asks it smooth as velvet. Soft. Almost a whisper. "Underneath this."

Shiro can't seem to get enough air no matter how deeply he inhales. His gaze drinks up the sun-bathed angles of Keith's cheek, his jaw, his neck. The tendon there is so supple Shiro wants to sink his teeth in. It's a strange compulsion and it scares him. 

"No," he breathes.

Keith's face falls. He takes in a sharp breath that Shiro feels like a knife in his chest. "I'm sorry," Keith rasps. "I'm sorry. I should go." He turns away, but he doesn't run. Shiro's voice stops him in his tracks. "I don't want to see it," Shiro rumbles, "if it's not for me."

Keith pauses, still turned away from him. The words sink in slowly, like warm honey on his skin. By the time he gets up the courage to face him again, Shiro's taken a small step closer, almost to chase after him. 

"Shiro. Of course it's for you." Keith's look has a sultry glow. "This other guy /did/ ask me out, but I turned him down." 

Shiro takes in the new information with some difficulty. "So you don't have a date." 

"No."

"You were testing me?" 

"Not like that..." 

"Well, you got me. I'm a creepy old man who thinks you're incredibly sexy. I'm not a good man, after all, am I?" Shiro sighs heavily and moves away again. He pulls out a kitchen chair and sinks into it. 

"You are." Keith steps closer. He slides out of his sneakers, pads across the kitchen floor near silently, and reaches out - to Shiro's surprise - to touch the older man's face. It's a gentle brush of thumb to cheek, like a lover's, and Shiro feels an irresistible shudder of desire rip through him from scalp to cock. Things down there are beginning to warm and tingle in places he's almost forgotten were there. "You're the most amazing man I know," Keith says softly. "I'm sorry for lying to you. I wanted to know what you thought of me." 

"Why?" Pained, Shiro stares up at him under knitted silvery brows. 

"Because..." Keith's biting his lip again. His slender fingers move to one of the clasps of his overalls and tug the button catch open, letting one thin denim strap hang loose. "Because it's for you. It's always been for you." 

Shiro doesn't respond right away. He has patience. Lots of patience. Keith takes his cue as easily as if he could read it in his face. The man watches as his young nanny unclasps the second strap, and his hands, suddenly shy in a way that only stokes Shiro's desire, clutch at the thin panel of fabric at his chest. 

"Shiro." 

"Hm?" 

"You know what I have, right?" Keith's face is flushed, his breath fluttery and nervous. 

"Show me," Shiro rasps.

Keith holds his gaze, steady and shining under long dark eyelashes. His hands move slow and tantalizing, like he's practiced this. The denim shifts down his chest, over the soft swell of his abdomen, lingering around the curves of his hips. Under the hem of his t-shirt, Shiro can just barely make out the slim expanse of bare skin at his lower abdomen, the twin clefts of Keith's groin muscles that lure Shiro's gaze downward. Another soft push and the overalls are gliding past Keith's hips, his thighs, his knees. They fall to the kitchen floor with only a soft tinkle of metal buttons on ceramic tile. It's simple and elegant, like something a first-time lingerie wearer would pick out, and it's endearing to Shiro's core. A black lace scrap of a thing, a thong that barely covers the clean, shaved delta of Keith's pubic mound.

He wonders briefly if Keith picked it out himself or asked someone else's advice. It's a pretty thing. He sees the pearl string and worries he might go into cardiac arrest then and there. They shine in the rosy seam of Keith's pussy, almost like they're wet. No... they /are/ wet.

"Oh, my God," Shiro groans. 

"What?" Keith's voice wavers. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Shiro can see his thighs trembling, just a little. "Do you like it?" 

"Like it?" Shiro snorts with laughter. "No, I don't. I want to rip it off. Was it expensive?" 

"A little. Don't."

"Don't what?" 

"Don't rip it!" Keith smiles at him. It's dazzling. "I worked hard to afford this." 

"Yes, you did," Shiro murmurs. He reaches up with both hands out of instinct, but then pulls one back. Keith realizes he retracts his prosthetic and frowns. Shiro doesn't understand at first, but Keith takes his bionic hand in his and guides the cool palm to his body, slips it under his shirt and presses it to his belly. Shiro senses the pressure, the warmth of it, but not the precise feeling of Keith's skin. 

"Touch me," Keith whispers. He takes Shiro's flesh hand, too, and pulls it to his hip. "Please. I want you to." 

Shiro hesitates. Most people are frightened the first time they figure out that his right arm is a prosthetic. And their discomfort usually lingers. But Keith has barely given it a second glance, just accepting it as part of Shiro's appearance. Why doesn't Keith see him as the Frankenstein monster he knows he is? After he came back from the war, his own wife barely recognized him. She wasn't attracted to him anymore. The sight of his scars, his wounds, his amputation frightened her.

Shiro runs his hands, slow and deliberate, over Keith's body. He maps sensitive hip joints, the invitation of his slim waist, even the faint swell of the tops of his buttocks. He doesn't dare explore lower, but Keith steps closer to him to let him wander. 

"Beautiful..."

The word floods Keith from head to toe in warmth; he's already hot, but this is a new level. He can't even count the number of times anymore that he's gone to bed whispering Shiro's name into the darkness, stroking his clit and fingering himself, trying to imagine what it would feel like for the neighborhood silver fox, Takashi Shirogane, to undress him and take him places he'd never been before, teach him pleasures he'd only dreamed of. He'd wanted the man for a year, but Shiro was more than just someone he wanted to seduce. He got to know him, to see what he was really like at home and with his family and alone. Keith had only overheard him cry once, and it was after the court day when his ex-wife was awarded weekends and most holidays with their children. This past Christmas, Shiro had had to kiss the children goodbye on the morning of Christmas Eve, and that night he and Keith had sat up late eating cookies Keith made and wrapping presents for when they would return to Shiro's house the day after the holiday. Keith knew things about him, intimate things that were never shared outside the family.

In a way... in a way, Keith had become family, too. But in a way very different from others. Shiro meditated on this fact for only a few heartbeats before leaning in to kiss Keith's mound, the dark lace teasing his lips.

It draws out a soft sound from Keith's throat, and it's all he waits for before he climbs into Shiro's lap, straddling him in the chair that probably won't hold them both for very long. It's awkward, and Keith is shaking, and he's not good at this and it's the first time he's ever mounted a guy in a chair -- or anywhere, actually -- and to conceal his anxiety he plants a heavy kiss straight onto the older man's mouth. It's sudden, and not smooth, but Shiro likes it anyway. He smiles into more kisses, nibbles at Keith's lower lip, sucks the tip of his tongue when it strays naively close to his. It's like a dance, both coy evasion and hungry pursuit, and it gets the blood roaring in Shiro's ears. Its rushing to other places, too, now he thinks of it. His slacks feel particularly tight in his crotch, right under Keith's ass.

"Keith." 

"Huh?" Keith breathes between kisses, his fingers softly raking the buzzed hair at the nape of the man's neck. 

"What time is it?" 

Keith senses his worry and pulls back to look at him. "I don't know. I got here at two. Why?"

"I wanted..." Shiro sighs, looks around until he finds the LED clock on the stove. "I wanted to pick them up from school today, since I'm here..." 

"Oh." Keith's expression changes, but it's sympathy, not disappointment. "Shiro, it's Friday, remember? Your wife... um, your ex-wife is picking them up. I dropped them off this morning with their bags for the weekend." 

Shiro seems to realize it slowly, resignedly. "Right. God, it's been a long week." 

"I know." It's odd, maybe, that they're talking like this with Keith's legs folded around Shiro's waist, Keith's body in his arms, but it's also not odd at all. 

"I'm sorry," Shiro mumbles. "Sorry. I ruined the mood."

"No." Keith brushes silver locks back from his forehead. "You know I think it's hot that you're a good dad, right?" 

"Keith. You're an angel." 

"Shiro!" Keith hides his face behind a hand. 

"Too much?" 

"No."

Shiro gently tugs Keith's hand away from his face, kisses his knuckles. 

"Well, if it means anything," Keith murmurs, "you have plenty of time tonight to... relax." Shiro smiles. The sound of their wet kisses fill the empty kitchen. Keith's hips roll gently against Shiro's groin.

"Keith," he groans, his hands traveling up the younger man's body again. "I want to take you to bed. I want to do things to you that keep you here all weekend." 

Keith shivers, involuntary. The words go straight to his cunt as he rubs it softly against the tent of Shiro's erection in his slacks. "I want you," he whispers, and it's so genuine it catches Shiro off guard. "I don't know anything, I've never... I've never had sex before. Tell me what to do." 

It's a suggestion that makes Shiro think he might bust before they even get down to it.

"Wh... Keith," Shiro sputters. "You've nev... You're a virgin?" 

Keith immediately regrets admitting it. It's like a stain that he can't wipe off his face. Or his body. He thinks he's ruined it. Shiro is experienced, sensual, probably amazing in bed, and Keith knows he'll just be a burden lying there not knowing what to do, shaking like he is now, not being able to please him, not knowing how to make him feel the way he wants him to feel... Hot tears of shame well up around his eyes. He can't help it. He's suddenly so lost, any inkling of confidence he'd felt when he'd dropped his clothes has fallen away. Now he just feels... vulnerable. No one else sees him like this. No one else could influence his emotions the way this man can. Did he just make a huge mistake? 

"I'm... yeah," Keith murmurs. His lip trembles, and Shiro notices.

"Oh, Keith." It's so warm. Gentle. Shiro smoothes the loose strands of silky black hair from the young man's face. He really is beautiful. "Please don't be embarrassed about it. Please. I'm not making fun of you." 

"Oh." 

"I'm just... surprised, that's all." 

"Why?" 

Shiro stares at him for a few long seconds, wondering how much he should say.

"I mean, I don't know... I'm surprised you'd do me the honor of deflowering you, that's all."

In spite of himself, Keith bursts out laughing, covering his mouth. "Please do not say that word ever again. You big dope."

It's comfortable, almost natural, the way Keith finds himself stretched out on Shiro's bed and waiting for him. Keith has made this bed meticulously almost every morning for a year and never laid in it; now he's naked on the plush silky comforter, a deep red wine color, his bare skin like a pale moon shining at its center. He stretches his legs out ahead of him, folds his arms behind his head but then decides against it and folds them over his belly. That doesn't look right either. He wants to be effortlessly sexy, like in the movies when a sweet naive lover lies in the perfect, most alluring pose without flinching for the other to stumble upon and be in awe. 

The real thing isn't like that, though. Keith is nervous. He suddenly can't think of how he normally lays in a bed. He doesn't know if his hair is laying right or if his knees look red and weird or if his skin is dry. What if he has razor burn on his ass and doesn't know it? What if his hands have too many visible veins? What if... "Hey, gorgeous." It's a deep rumble, thick with confidence. Shiro leans on the door frame, shirtless, but with his gray cotton briefs still on. 

"Who let you look like that in my bed? Jesus."

Keith resists the urge to cover his face, though he can feel it flushing. "I always thought it was missing something," he murmurs, trying his best to sound smooth. 

"You were right." Shiro smirks.

"Hey," Keith says softly, "it's cold. C'mere." He rises to his knees and starts to untuck the comforter from underneath the throw pillows. He thinks vaguely that he should have just done that in the first place and hid underneath them, but would that have defeated the purpose of getting naked? How is he supposed to know this stuff? He's fantasized plenty of times about having sex with Shiro, but it's not like he ever expected the older man to accept his attraction, let alone reciprocate. And now he's climbing under his covers with nothing on. 

It's… electrifying. A little nerve-wracking, sure, but more than anything it's completely saturating the area between his legs. His pussy throbs like it hasn't been touched in weeks, which isn't technically true, but it's never felt /this/ touch, the one he's about to get. Furiously masturbating to thoughts of the man's tongue circling his clit isn't the same as... well... Shiro takes his time crossing the room. It's as if he's trying to draw out the moment, like he's savoring the sight of Keith climbing into his sheets. His gaze flickers over every detail of Keith's body, from his adorable little tits with their bright pink nipples, the arch of his back, the pretty ripe peach of his ass that's sticking up in the air just before he turns over and slips under the comforter. 

"Don't worry," Shiro soothes. "I'll get you warm."

Shiro moves slow across the room, savoring that brief electric moment where their mutual excitement and fear of the unknown collide. It could almost send static crackling through the air between them as the older man descends, careful and powerful at the same time, onto the bed.

He takes his time. He doesn't tug the covers off Keith's body in order to get under them, to get at the prize beneath. He's patient. Refined in his movements. He smooths his hands over the shape of Keith, on top of the comforter, feeling him through the layers of warm material.

Keith watches him, knowing his own breath is coming faster now, and Shiro's hands are warm through the bedspread. They run slow and sure over his chest, around his waist, cradle his hips. He's helpless and wanting with lips parted when Shiro finally settles on top of him and captures his mouth in a deep kiss. One of the older man's hands slides around the back of Keith's neck, tips his head back so his tongue can lick open the sweet pink treasure trove of Keith's lips. He wonders how many times he's been kissed before, how many men have kissed him badly and sloppily and with a lack of care that pisses him off wondering about it. Keith's lips deserve to be savored like a rare treat. 

Keith's breath catches on a faint moan as Shiro swipes the soft seam of his mouth with his tongue. "Shiro," he rasps when the kiss breaks.

"Mm," the silver-haired man murmurs in reply, smiling. 

"You're really good at that," Keith whispers. It sends a pleasurable shudder from the nape of Shiro's neck to his cock. "No one's ever kissed me like that before." 

"I can give you lots of things you've never had before."

Keith blushes, and he knows he does, because his face burns and his hand goes to cover his face on instinct. Shiro grins at him -- like a wolf, Keith thinks -- and kisses the back of his hand. It's like he's dreaming. Shiro's kisses continue on in a lazy line from Keith's chin, down the side of his neck to his collarbone, and it sends a shudder of enticement through Keith's body. His hands return to the bedspread, clutching it tighter in his fingers as Shiro noses along his clavicle and down the center of his chest, nearly in the slight cleft between his tits, but he doesn't expose them. He lifts his head, glances at Keith with inquisitive eyes. 

"Um," Keith stutters. "I still... have my tits. You could tell, right? Does... does it bother you?"

Shiro's expression warms. "No. Not at all. I like them quite a bit." 

Keith draws in a sharp breath. "You do? I thought... I thought it might not be what you want, after you and your ex..." 

"Keith, I know who you are." Shiro reaches up to brush a thick lock of black hair from Keith's face. The touch tingles against his skin. "And I like what you have. I want to touch you." 

Keith feels his cunt flutter, get wetter between his thighs. He squeezes them together. 

"Is that okay?" Shiro asks, husky. He glances down at the little perked mounds under the covers, then back to Keith's face. 

"Yes," Keith breathes. "You can touch. I want you to."

Shiro slowly peels the covers down over Keith's torso like he's unwrapping expensive candy from a foreign land. His hands are warm, and so is his exhaled breath against Keith's skin, though it still makes the younger man shiver. Shiro licks an exploratory path down one pectoral swell, and when his lips close over a tender nipple, Keith gasps. 

"Oh," he breathes. Shiro hums in reply, licking the sweet nub in slow circling swipes, and to his utter delight he feels Keith's hips beginning to roll softly up against him in feverish, involuntary desire.

"You're sensitive here," Shiro comments, his voice low in his chest, his lips still ghosting against engorged pink areola.

"Sorry," Keith rasps. He suddenly realizes his fingers are in Shiro's thick salt-and-pepper hair, the tips excitedly raking his scalp like a kitten kneading warm fur for milk. 

"It's adorable," Shiro rumbles. "Does it feel good?" 

Keith takes the liberty of checking in with himself. He'd rather be flat there, for sure, but the way the older man's tongue swipes his perked buds like he's licking an ice cream cone is making him sweat.

"It's nice."

Shiro understands his feelings, even if most of it is unspoken.

"Has anybody ever licked your..." He wants to find the right word. Something that won't drive Keith away, something that makes him feel as powerful as he is. 

"No," Keith answers, breathless, staring up at him. "When I said I've never... been with anybody before, I meant... anything. I've never done anything." 

"Ah." Shiro smiles at Keith's immediate look of apology. "I told you, don't be embarrassed... I just... I'm having a hard time keeping my head on straight." 

"It's okay."

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" Shiro murmurs, as sweet as honey. 

Keith doesn't answer right away, but pulls him up to his lips for a long kiss. "I've thought about that a lot," the younger man admits, not without the color of shame in his cheeks. 

It makes Shiro's lips drift open, just a little, while he processes it. "You... you've fantasized about me," he deadpans. "Really?" 

Keith covers his mouth with one hand. "Of course I have." 

"Oh, my God." 

Keith can feel it now, the firm press of Shiro's erection nestled in the bedspread between his thighs, probably straining against the man's briefs, and maybe - though he can't see it - the warm rosy head peeking out from under the waistband, like the porn models he's seen on instagram. Keith's thighs tremble.

"You're really," Shiro rasps, "going to be the death of me."

“No, please,” Keith whimpers in mock dispair. “You can’t die yet, not with me still a virgin.”

Shiro lets out a deep, rumbling laugh and buries his face in Keith’s neck, kisses him hard, nips at all the sensitive places no one’s ever kissed before. Keith breathes shallow and quick, his littlest sounds of pleasure not missed by Shiro’s keen ears.

“Come under here,” Keith whispers, gently tugging at the older man’s hard shoulders. He wants him closer, flesh to flesh, finally.

Finally. Shiro rustles the bedspread and climbs in, his body settling over the smaller one beneath, and their skin warms to the other’s touch. The contact tingles all over, and Keith can’t fight a dreamy smile as his hips squirm and his legs part to accommodate Shiro’s big frame between them.

Shiro’s cock is hard. As they kiss, Keith’s hands drift down his chest, his fingertips brushing small firm nipples and taut pectoral muscle, abdominal wall, a stiff belly with a dusting of soft hair. They find the elastic waistband of Shiro’s briefs, then run slowly over an unfamiliar mound.

Shiro’s breath catches in Keith’s mouth, and it takes Keith a few heartbeats to realize he’s found the plush head of the man’s cock through the fabric. The younger man’s heart races faster. He rubs the warm golf ball shape in feather-light circles, then with just a bit more firmness, exploring the smooth shape with its trademark ridge somewhere closer to Shiro’s body. In a moment of pure curious impulse, he squeezes it in his palm.

The older man groans.

“Can I…” Keith doesn’t know the words. He can’t formulate what he wants to happen.

“Let me get these off,” Shiro mumbles, and it’s exactly what Keith wants to hear. He feels him rustling blankets and sheet, his thighs shifting until there’s no longer a barrier of gray cotton between them. The man’s organ settles between Keith’s legs, and it’s feverishly warm and throbbing and… sticky. A little bead of precum lingers on the inside of Keith’s thigh.

“Wow,” Keith whispers. “You’re… you’re really big.”

“Am I?” Shiro raises an eyebrow. It’s not cocky — more dubious. “Well, I shouldn’t let that go to my head, should I? You don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“I’ve seen cocks before,” Keith says, his dark brows knitting in protest. With his beautiful, shining, indigo eyes, he looks like an indignant teenager. Shiro wishes it didn’t turn him on so much.

“Have you?” The older man purrs. “On your phone? Or in bed with you?” He leans down for a long, indulgent kiss to Keith’s lips before he can answer, then traces a line down his neck. Keith shudders.

“Come on, now you really /are/ making fun of me.” Keith’s reply is breathy, mock-accusatory, and it makes Shiro grin like a wolf against his throat. Keith hears him snicker. “You know for a fact that yours is the closest there’s ever been.” 

“Well, all right. I’ll still take the compliment, then.” The silver fox shifts his hips, only slightly, but Keith is so attuned to the body against his that he feels every inch of the man’s cock sliding against his thighs. “No one’s praised my cock in a very long time, you know, so I’m in a fragile state.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he laughs softly. “Yeah. No problem.”

“I’m serious.” Shiro leans up on his elbows, looks down into his eyes. “Honestly, Keith, you could have anybody. I never would have allowed myself to dream that you would be attracted to me, let alone… this.” He swallows, and Keith watches his prominent Adam’s apple bob. He has dark stubble under his chin, along his jaw. Keith wants to bite that sharp line under his ear, but he doesn’t know where the urge comes from. “I’m glad it’s happening, though,” the older man adds.

“Nothing’s happening yet,” Keith mutters. 

“Do I detect impatience?” Shiro’s smile is dazzling. Keith has to smile, too, and look away. He doesn’t respond right away, and Shiro keeps looking at him like that, like he… cares, and Keith bites his lip hard.

“What?” he whispers.

“What do you mean ‘what?’” Those steel-grey eyes narrow, but not with malice. He’s thinking. “Hey, maybe I… Maybe I need to be more adult about this. Maybe it’s just got me feeling like… like I’m in college again, like I’m sexy and invincible and all the other things I felt about myself back then, but... This is different, and these things could have consequences, and. I’m…”

Without knowing why, Keith finds himself reaching up to lay a hand at the side of the man’s face. A simple touch, but sensual in the way his fingertips give that hard jawline and soft earlobe the most undetectable caresses. It silences him, briefly, like a switch. His pupils are blown out, wide and dark, like they’re soaking in the image of Keith underneath him, and the spark of yearning in Keith’s gaze isn’t overlooked.

“I’m a virgin, not a child.” Keith’s voice is level, calm but resolute. It startles the older man with its intensity. “I could have given myself to whoever I wanted. You’re right. But I want you. Can’t you just trust my judgment and enjoy it?”

He watches carefully as Shiro’s expression changes, slightly. His gaze glazes, almost vacant at the words, and Keith feels his hands heavy and squeezing at his hips. The thick girth still nestled between his thighs twitches once, twice, like the throbbing of a heart.

Keith’s final, coherent words are like a drumbeat rousing a soldier to war. “I want you to fuck me, Mr. Shirogane. I want to be your lover.”

Shiro’s warm flesh hand slides over Keith’s cheek, his thumb tracing the young man’s lips, his chin, back to his lips. Like he’s straight out of some taboo porn video, his babysitter opens his mouth, slow and wet and shiny, just to let that thumb in to explore. Shiro rubs his tongue, his bottom teeth like white seashells, the tender wet insides of his cheeks that feel so similar to how he knows the inside of his hole will feel. He could cum just jerking off with Keith sucking on his finger, feeling that wet heat surround him.

“Shit,” Shiro mutters. “God, Keith, say that again.”

“Which part?”

“I don’t know. God, I…” 

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck.” It’s a hot breath against his ear. Shiro never cusses. It makes his cunt spasm. “Say my name.”

“Mr. Shirogane,” Keith whimpers. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck you how?”

“I…” Keith swallows. They breathe hard against each other, trading sloppy kisses. He doesn’t know how to answer him.

“Tell me,” Shiro growls, gnawing at Keith’s bottom lip. “Tell me where to fuck you.”

Everywhere, Keith wants to scream. But that’s not specific enough, and he knows he needs to be. He’s never asked anyone for it. He’s never said it out loud. His cheeks burn.

“My pussy,” Keith rasps. It makes the man above him groan and drag his tongue across his lips. “Put your big cock in my pussy, please, sir.”

“Not yet.” The man is grinning wide, nibbling Keith’s lips, his chin, kissing him down his neck. “You’re not ready for my cock.”

“Please.” It’s a withering whisper. 

“Just be patient. You waited this long.” His laugh is deep in his chest. “You can wait a few more minutes on my tongue.”

Keith closes his eyes, clutching at the man’s big shoulders as he moves down, down, kissing his nipple, down his heaving rib cage and belly, down until he’s disappearing under the sheets. When his lips hit the fleshy mound, when his tongue cleaves between those hypersensitive lips and circles pulsating clit, Keith thinks he glimpses the gates of Heaven. Or Hell. He isn't sure which, but it's blazing white fire of ecstasy.

[-To Be Continued-]


End file.
